“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
Just as I’m about to storm off, my head spins, and my balance wavers, possibly from the hunger, lack of sleep, and champagne. Jake is quick to grab my arm and help me straighten up. “Are you alright, red?”
“Yes, I—” My stomach picks this precise moment to release a rumble so loud that we both hear it.
“Have you eaten since your brunch?” The concern in his tone is touching, but I can’t fully appreciate it, given the situation. I shake my head. “That was hours ago,” he scolds disapprovingly. “You need sustenance after a sexathon.”
He takes a porcelain plate from the buffet and fills it with whatever he can find.
“Is that what it was?” I ask. “A sexathon?”
He lets out a surprised chuckle, sending me a side glance. “Going after my ego now, red?”
“You’ll survive. But I didn’t realize we also took care of number eight yesterday. I thought a sexathon had to last twenty-six hours and twenty-one minutes or something. Like how many miles it takes to run a marathon.”
“We’ll do it your way, then. It sounds challenging, but I do love a challenge.” He gives me an impish wink as he places the overflowing plate in my hands. “Eat, sweetheart.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Your stomach says otherwise. Eat before you faint and people think you swooned because of how sexy I am.”
I scoff to mask my grin. “See? Your ego is doing very well.”
“How could it not when you’re looking at me like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you wish you could rip my clothes off.”
This time, I roll my eyes. It’s not entirely false, but he doesn’t have to know that. Because I don’t want him to cause a scene, I pick up a canapé from the plate and eat it. Ugh, that’s good. Another one goes down before I know it, and then I’m bringing a third to my lips.
“Right, you weren’t hungry,” he laughs.
I glare at him. “I’m trying to watch my figure.”
“Well, watching your figure is quickly becoming my favorite pastime, so I can relate.”
He looks way too proud of himself while I chew on the mini quiche. “How do you know Constance?” he asks once I swallow.
“We went to Harvard together.”
“Are you close?”
“Not anymore. You?”
He winces, looking at the crowd. “No, but we might have fucked once or twice.”
My jaw drops, and I hate the way my heart does, too. Why do I care who he’s slept with? Constance is a beautiful woman with wheat-blonde hair and the body of a model. Of course, he’d get in bed with her if given the opportunity.
“It’s been a while, though. She got married, and I avoid vengeful husbands.”
“Shame you won’t get to finish the night with her, then,” I say with bitterness.
My fit of jealousy, which I know I should have held back, seems to delight him. He gives me one of his bone-melting smiles, making me forget everything else. “I wouldn’t have anyway,” he says, coming closer. “I’m saving myself so I get to creampie the sexy as fuck redhead who drives me mad.”
Heat flashes across my face, so incandescent that I know I’m bright pink. He really is so crass, which is something I wish I could say I hate, but the wetness gathering between my legs says otherwise.
“I got tested this afternoon, by the way. Even paid extra to get the results quickly,” he explains.
